Line 333.
Wit that can creep, and pride that licks the dust.
Book ii. Satire i. Line 6.
Lord Fanny spins a thousand such a day.
Line 69.
Satire's my weapon, but I'm too discreet
To run a muck, and tilt at all I meet.
Line 127.
Then St. John mingles with my friendly bowl,
The feast of reason and the flow of soul.
Book ii. Satire ii. Line 159.
For I, who hold sage Homer's rule the best,
Welcome the coming, speed the going guest.[12]
Book ii. Epistle i. Line 108.
The mob of gentlemen who wrote with ease.